


They Used To Call It Shell Shock

by KingOfTheCliche



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic, Infidelity, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5925445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfTheCliche/pseuds/KingOfTheCliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron wants to help Harry not be alone after the war. He does it wrong. Harry can't let go of him anyway. Neither of them want to leave a place that slowly becomes their home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stargazing from the Gutter

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a psychologist. Harry's mental wiring is shot, he doesn't know why. Ron does, but he doesn't know how to fix it.

When the war was over, things didn’t stop falling apart. The threat of evil was eliminated and lineage was now supposed to be a moot point, but the Wizarding World was far from united. The first few months after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry kept running from trial to trial, brimming with energy and keeping an eye on every verdict that was spoken. He didn’t try to sway the Wizengamot – Hermione would have been disappointed – but he did manage to sway public opinion once or twice. Or eleven times.

After a while the sparkling energy that Voldemort’s fall had left him with started to ebb away. Harry didn’t give up on wanting to create order, but half a year after the Battle, he was merely going through the motions; correcting facts he knew were wrong, setting up people with questions with people who had answers. And then, one day, he took a step back and realized he wasn’t needed anymore. There was a system up and running and Harry had the distinct idea that it would be running for a while without his interference. He had accomplished what he had set out to do. He wanted the regime in the Wizarding World to be moderate and mild, but still somewhat vigilant. There were wizards and witches who did not deserve a temperate attitude, no matter how respected they previously might have been, but limitations were set in place.

Harry knew it was time to get off the stage on the day after the trial of Draco Malfoy. The Malfoys attorney had managed to postpone Draco’s trial time after time, until the public frenzy and the need for blood had died down enough for the Wizengamot to hear reason. When Harry’s childhood rival was convicted to one year of Azkaban for failing to oppose an accessory to murder, Harry’s shoulders sagged. Not in disappointment, but in relief. Draco would never be his friend. There was far too much bitterness and history between them, but he had been a child. A child like Harry, even though Harry now felt infinitely older than anyone in the Wizarding World. He could have been tried and convicted for murder and never seen anything but the inside of his Azkaban cell, which would have been wrong, but possible, given the giant losses on the winning side of the war.

While Draco was escorted out of the Hall, Harry felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Ron looking at him, his expression tired and looking for respite.

‘Enough?’ he asked.

Harry nodded. ‘Enough.’

Ron squeezed his shoulder before he let go.

*

Harry did not go back to Hogwarts. He wanted to remember his classes in the castle as it had been; whole and grand. With walls made of protection. He couldn’t bring himself to see and notice all the differences the previous year had wrecked.

Ron tried to go back. He let Hermione get to him with her – truthful, logical – insistence on education. He packed on the last day of August and followed Hermione, led by her strong shoulders and straight back. Her confident power less of an illusion with every passing day.

Harry stayed back in Ron’s room at the Burrow, until the unthinkable happened. Ginny received a letter and a badge, which she showed him early on September first. She had been made Gryffindor Quidditch captain.

‘Congratulations, Gin, you deserve it.’ Harry tried to sound sincere, but the blind panic in his gut made his mouth turn sour.

‘Thanks.’ Ginny sat next to him on Ron’s narrow bed. She sighed deeply and then looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Harry. I know you loved me, but – ’

‘You don’t have to do that’, Harry interrupted her. ‘It’s okay. You’ll go back to Hogwarts, I’ll come visit whenever you go to Hogsmeade, it’s okay, please don’t shake your head – ’

Ginny took his right hand between hers and Harry almost threw up.

‘I think it’s for the best if we go our separate ways’, she said. As far as formulations go, it was a merciful one.

‘Why?’ Harry couldn’t just give up, even though his bones started to weigh him down again.

‘Harry, please, don’t – ’

‘No. Ginny. Why?’ He kept staring at her face, her brown eyes, her beautifully sad mouth. Ginny loved him. That was one thing that he had known. Something he had been certain of. Ginny Weasley loved him, Harry Potter.

‘You’re different’, she whispered.

‘It’s just – the War, the Battle, Ginny you have to understand, I can’t just magically get over this.’

‘I know.’ She shook her head, as if that would disguise the shaking of her voice. ‘But I’m different too.’

She suddenly got up and walked to the door. Harry wanted to stop her. He wanted to have a shouting match, a row unlike any other, something fiercely passionate that would make her understand how much he actually loved her. However, he was frozen to the bed, incapable of moving or talking.

Ginny left the room and with that, the unbreakable fell apart.

*

He was out of the Burrow and into a London apartment within the week. Molly had cried, her tears eroding at the edge of all of Harry’s certainties. Harry loved her too, this Molly. He was taking part of her future away from her, this fantasy she must have had of a bigger family. Harry related to her more than she could probably imagine.

Despite the fact that he was strictly still a teenager, Harry mourned the death of his own non-existent family. He’d had his fantasy of redhead kids, of a redhead girl with his mother’s name. He wanted to name his redhead girl after his mother so bad.

*

Two weeks after Harry had moved into his own place, Ron knocked on the door. When Harry opened up, he saw Ron’s huge trunk behind him in the carpeted hallway. They stared at each other for a second, before Harry moved aside and let his best friend in.

‘Can I stay?’ Ron asked bluntly, worrying the top handle of his trunk.

Harry nodded, but asked: ‘Hermione?’

‘She’ll forgive me.’

And that was how Harry ended up living with the boy he had met in an empty train carriage almost a decade ago.

*


	2. Hair as Fair as Morning Air

‘Harry, this place is really big!’

‘Please don’t shout, Ron. I have neighbours and I can’t figure out the Sound Blocking spells yet.’ Harry hurried after Ron, who was giving himself a tour of the apartment.

Ron stood in the living room, in front of the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Muggle London. The view wasn’t spelled, partly because Harry didn’t know how and partly because it disoriented him to have a fake view of the outside world.

‘This must have been expensive’, Ron said without turning around.

‘Yeah, but my parents, they, uhm. They kinda left me – enough.’ Harry tried not to sound as tense as he usually felt.

His worries were not necessary, however. Ron turned around, smiling. ‘Enough?’

‘Enough.’

‘Sweet.’ He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge – a magic one, Harry had his priorities straight. ‘Don’t blow it all at once, though.’

‘I won’t.’ Harry had to smile when he saw Ron swipe an apple and take a huge bite out of it.     

Harry showed him the rest of the place – the guest bathroom, a “study”, a small terrace, his bedroom and bathroom and an unfurnished extra bedroom. At first he was a bit nervous, but Ron was enthusiastic, and only a little bit sarcastic (‘Who’s gonna take care of the cleaning, Harry? Yeah, I bet you didn’t think of that when you bought this bloody big sty.’)

‘We can buy a bed tomorrow’, Harry said when they’d circled back to the living room. ‘We can get you a really big one, so you can sleep like a starfish.’

Ron grinned, but shook his head. ‘I can’t take advantage of you like that, mate. I’m just gonna stay on this fancy couch ‘till I’m back on my feet.’

Harry felt a bit of the joy he accumulated flow out of him. ‘O. Sure. If that’s what you want.’

Ron didn’t seem to notice Harry’s changed mood, and instead picked up the television remote. ‘What does this do?’

*

Despite his words, Ron didn’t immediately ran to get a job. Harry didn’t care one way or the other, especially because he kept postponing the question of what he was going to do with his life over and over himself. They were like two giddy children in the too big apartment. They got up way too late, ate food that was way too greasy and watched television well into the night.

‘Money is great’, Ron said happily one day, sitting on the living room, with his back against the couch.

Harry turned to look at him from where he was sprawled on the floor, one leg bent to accommodate for the coffee table (too lazy to move it). ‘It is’, he said.

Ron sighed. ‘Don’t worry, mate. I will pay you back as soon as – you know. Promise.’

‘Don’t worry’, Harry echoed. ‘Don’t worry.’ He suppressed a giggle and made to grab the champagne bottle, which Ron held out of his reach.

‘Wait your turn’, he mumbled and took a sip of the bottle himself. The champagne left his lips glistening and Harry found it hard to look away, especially went the tip of Ron’s red tongue licked the residue of the corner of his mouth.

‘What?’ he asked.

Harry took the bottle from him. ‘You need a haircut. You’re starting to look like a girl.’ He dodged Ron’s foot and gulped down some of the champagne himself.

*


	3. Bouncing

Slowly but surely, the apartment started to get a lived-in feel. Their shoes and scarves ended up on the chairs and tables more often than the coat rack. Magazines and comic book stacks covered the coffee table. (Harry had gotten into the Adventures of Martin Miggs; Ron discovered and wouldn’t let go of Starfire.) After two separate incidents where they had to throw out their plates and replace them because they could neither wash nor charm off the fungus on it, they decided they would take turns doing some housework.

Washing some dishes was exactly what Harry was doing one late morning in October when Ron came out of the bathroom, groaning.

‘Harry, I think we might have had a bit too much last night.’ He stumbled into the kitchen, most likely looking for some Hangover Potion, although how he hadn’t built up a tolerance for it was a mystery to Harry.

‘Maybe you had a bit too much, I controlled myself’ Harry grinned, without turning around. The truth was that he had promised himself he wouldn’t let himself get too drunk around Ron again after an episode of Firewhiskey and wandering fingers that stayed tangled in red hair too long.

Ron mumbled something and kept opening and closing the cabinets.

Harry almost dropped the pan he was trying to get to wash itself when Ron plastered himself to Harry’s back to reach the cabinet over their head where the Hangover Potion usually was. He made a triumphant little sound when he spelled the cork out and upended the little vial down his throat.

Harry was frozen beyond any possibility of movement. Ron was warm against his should blades and from what he had seen of his arms, he wasn’t wearing his shirt yet. Which begged the question: was he wearing trousers? Pants? Only a towel?

His thoughts were violently disrupted when Ron emitted a groan of satisfaction that made Harry’s frame shake, reminding him harshly that his best friend was almost a head taller than him.

Ron finally noticed that Harry had forgone breathing altogether. ‘Sorry’, he mumbled, taking a step back. Harry chanced a look at him and saw one of Ron’s mouth corners twitch in amusement. ‘Personal space, gotcha.’

And Ron walked back into the living room, giving Harry an unobstructed view of his towel-clad backside and muscular back.

Harry turned back to his pan, but he couldn’t remember the right Spell if his life depended on it.

*

For the first time in his life, Harry chose to ignore a mystery in his life. That mystery being his sudden physical awareness of his best mate of years. He decided that he was probably just lonely and confused. He missed Ginny and was projecting those feelings onto her brother. That thought hurt him enough that he decided not to think about it anymore.

Ron just made it bloody hard for him, that’s all.

Around Halloween, Ron had given in and he and Harry went out to buy him a bed, so he could have his own, proper room. Harry was also kind of tired of tripping over Ron’s clothes in the living room, but he kept that to himself.

‘What about this one?’ Ron asked.

‘Why are you asking me? You’re the one who’s gonna have to sleep on it.’ Harry tried his best to not stare at Ron, who was stretched out on big four-poster.

‘Only temporarily’, retorted Ron. ‘It’s basically still yours. So you have to have an opinion.’

Harry tried to ignore the curious look of the sales witch next to him. It had been a while since he had shown his face in public and it took some getting used to the intense scrutiny again.

‘Fine.’ He sat down on the bed next to Ron and gave it an experimental bounce. ‘Seems great.’

Ron closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. ‘Nah. It’s not it.’

Harry cursed whatever fate was looking over him and faked a smile at the woman, who had raised a perfect eyebrow. ‘Let’s move on’, she said, still joyful.

The next bed stood on claw feet, something Harry wanted to protest vehemently against, but Ron threw himself onto the mattress before Harry could say anything and the small strip of skin between his trousers and shirt made Harry’s mouth go dry.

‘This one?’ Ron asked.

Harry tried to ignore him and look at something else, some other bed, maybe, but he felt Ron tug hard at his wrist and he tumbled backwards on the bed, which was sort of harder than he expected. ‘Damn it, Ron.’

‘Sshh, try it.’ Ron had closed his eyes again, but he didn’t let go of Harry’s wrist. Harry sighed and lied back, trying to feel the bed’s positive energy or something.

‘Ron, ‘ he whispered in the end, ‘I hate to brake to you mate, but no matter how comfortable this bed is, it’s too ugly.’

‘Hey, why?’ Ron cracked open an eye.

Harry turned to look at him and said completely seriously: ‘Because I’ll be afraid it’ll move somewhere else on its monster feet in the middle of the night.’

Ron started to laugh, unexpectedly and loud, leaving Harry no choice but to chuckle along.

‘Harry Potter?’

Their laughter died down immediately. Harry turned his head and saw none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt standing at the end of the bed. He sat up so fast he saw black dots for a second.

‘Minister!’

Ron looked up too, but he didn’t sit up, which meant he had a double chin going on while observing Shacklebolt.

It’s not adorable, Harry thought, somewhat hysterical.

‘Harry, such a coincidence to run into you.’ Shacklebolt’s deep voice rumbled through the air and for some unspoken reason Harry started feeling immensely guilty.

‘Quite’, he said, getting up completely and plucking imaginary dust from his trousers. He was wearing Muggle clothes.

‘Mister Weasley.’ Shacklebolt nodded at Ron, who said, completely tonelessly: ‘Minister.’

Harry was a bit surprised at Ron’s behaviour, but he decided to focus on the Shacklebolt.

‘How are things going at the Ministry?’ he asked politely.

‘They’re going well, but they would be going a hell of a lot quicker if we had the right people to speed some things up a little.’

‘O, that’s a shame.’ Harry knew playing dumb with Shacklebolt wouldn’t work, but he tried anyway.

Shacklebolt squinted his eyes at him, but said nothing. In the end he inclined his head curtly. ‘Potter.’

‘Minister.’

Harry waited until Shacklebolt had left before turning to Ron, who stood up and said to the sales witch: ‘I’d like the first King Sized one with the big head board.’ He put his hand on Harry’s lower back and guided him to the Apparition point. ‘Let’s go’, he whispered.

*

‘When I was at Hogwarts, Shacklebolt came to speak to me a few times.’

‘He did?’ Harry was levitating the new bed in Ron’s room, trying to figure out where to put it.

‘Yes. He basically asked me to talk to you, see if you were interested in a position in the Ministry, in his cabinet.’ Ron was leaning against the wall, watching Harry carefully.

‘Shacklebolt is not Scimgeour. He’s not Fudge. We like Shacklebolt.’

Ron stepped away from the wall and put his hand over Harry’s, lowering his wand and with it the bed. ‘I figured,’ he said, ‘if you wanted to be with the Ministry, you’d be there.’

Harry looked at Ron, at his clear blue eyes, the freckles in the suntanned face. He nodded. ‘I don’t know what I want yet,’ he said slowly, his gaze flitting at Ron’s hand on his, ‘but I know the Ministry is not it.’

To his utter surprise, Ron pulled him towards him and hugged him tight to his chest. Ron Weasley, who avoided emotions when he could, who solved a crisis with a cuppa, who hated touchy feely stuff with a passion, that Ron Weasley was holding Harry closely, his chin on Harry’s shoulder, his hand on the back of Harry’s neck.

Harry just stood there for a while. With a shudder, he gave in and encircled Ron’s waist with his arms, leaning his face against Ron’s sternum for however long he’d let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to point out any errors.


	4. The Light Brigade

November flowed into December without much notice. The weather was softer down here in London than it was in the Scottish Highlands and there wasn’t a fleck of snow to detect. The days were getting a bit chillier though and Harry had long made it a habit to throw on a jumper when he left his room, even though his flat was a paradisiac heaven compared to the greyness outside.

He was shuffling to the kitchen for some breakfast (lunch?) when he heard Ron call his name.

‘Harry!’

‘What? What is it?’ Harry jogged to the living room and found Ron standing with an owl on his shoulder, letter in hand. Harry was momentarily distracted by the figure his friend cut against the London backdrop, like some kind of movie star in an artsy movie.

‘Hermione is coming?’

Harry needed a second to process what he heard. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Hermione! Remember, your best friend, my girlfriend? Brown hair, gorgeous smile? Hermione?’

‘All right, all right.’ Harry held his hands up, a bit irritated. ‘What do you mean she’s coming?’

‘She sent us this owl this morning, but I only saw it now and she says she passing by us before going to her parents.’

Several things passed through Harry at once. Incomparable joy, to see his friend again; jealousy, because Ron seemed even happier than him at the prospect; and blind panic at the state of the flat.

‘Merlin’s beard.’ Harry looked around the living room, which still held traces of Ron’s long stint on the sofa. Bottles of Butter beer, both empty and full, littered the coffee table, there was a stain on the Ottoman that Harry didn’t remember being there. ‘We have to clean!’

Ron looked at him as if he had grown an extra head. ‘Come again?’

‘Mate, look at the state of this place, we can’t just – she’ll – Ron!’ Harry started picking up bottles, putting them down when his hands were full and picking up others. ‘We haven’t done shite since we moved here and if Hermione comes in here and sees this mess, you know how she gets – ’

Ron finally started to look worried, but kept his wits about him better than Harry. ‘Fine, fine. Harry, relax.’ He Vanished the empty bottles and Spelled his clothes to walk back to his room.

Harry stared at him, disoriented now that his hands were suddenly empty.

‘Harry.’ Ron came closer and shook his shoulders softly. ‘We’re gonna be fine. You take care of the kitchen, I’ll finish in here.’

‘Yes. Good idea.’ Harry straightened his shoulders and marched to the kitchen. He was the Chosen One, damn it. He defeated Voldemort himself. He could handle Hermione.

*

‘This is really a lovely place, guys.’

Harry and Ron breathed a sigh of relief in unison. As long as Hermione wasn’t going into Harry’s room, they should be fine. They had put a plate of cookies on the coffee table (Harry’s idea) and brewed a big pot of tea (Ron’s idea). All this couldn’t help dispel the more than awkward atmosphere that had come over them.

Harry had the distinct feeling that Hermione could look right into his head, even though he knew wat Legilimency felt like and this was definitely not it. Still, he barely dared looking her in the eye, fearing she would know what he had been thinking about Ron in the last few weeks. Months. Whatever.

‘I’m going to get some more cookies’, Harry said when he couldn’t stand the tension any longer. He made a beeline for the kitchen and tried to breathe normally. He had no idea what was going on. Were Ron and Hermione as nervous as he was? Was he making this up? Was everything perfectly normal? Why did he feel so guilty? He hadn’t _done_ anything, had he?

Ron’s voice behind him almost made him jump in the air.

‘Hey, mate, we’re gonna head to Diagon Alley to get some book or something, okay?’

‘Yeah.’ Harry turned around and nodded. He met Ron’s eyes and saw his inquisitive look. The redhead seemed to hesitate before stepping a bit closer to him and whispering: ‘Harry, whatever it is, we’ll talk about it, okay? If you want to that is – ’

Harry kept nodding like a plastic car dog and Ron sighed. He took another step forward and put his hands on Harry’s elbow, trying to still him. Harry hadn’t realized how bad he was shaking until Ron made him stop. He tried a smile and breathed deeply when it not only made Ron smile, but also spread some warmth down his own spine.

‘Good.’ Ron arched towards him and kissed him briefly on the cheek.

Harry didn’t gasp, but it was a close call. He kept staring at Ron, as if his friend would start talking and explaining himself spontaneously.

Ron didn’t. The only thing he did was rub his thumb over the place he just kissed and then he was gone, the door closing behind him and Hermione.

*

Ron and Hermione stayed out late. Later than a trip to Flourish and Blotts would warrant. Harry tried not to wonder what they were doing, but when the clocked ticked eleven and they still hadn’t returned, he went to bed. He lay in the dark, thinking, despite himself. He was tired, but not physically. His arms and legs buzzed with energy, while his head begged to be shut off, even just for a little while.

They could have just headed back to the Burrow together. Come to think of it, Ron would have to go back to the Burrow sooner or later, considering Christmas was almost here.

They hadn’t even decorated the flat.

Perhaps if Harry made the apartment look all Christmassy, Ron wouldn’t have to go back to the Burrow. They could just celebrate Christmas, the two of them. Without Harry having to see if Ginny got any more stunning during the four months that he hadn’t seen her. Without Harry having to feel guilty towards Hermione, despite there not being anything concrete to feel guilty about. He and Ron could just wander around London, drink a bit in the Leaky Cauldron.

The Leaky Cauldron has nice rooms, his treacherous brain told him, maybe that’s where Ron and Hermione were tonight.

It took Harry a long time to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, signal any mistakes.


	5. Aubade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am filth. Absolute filth. (I'm sorry for the delay. The story is finished now.)

He didn’t actually know how long he had been asleep when he heard the door of his room open with a click. Harry froze, trying to think where he put his wand, cursing himself for being so comfortable all of a sudden, while bloody well knowing there were dozens of Dark Wizards who would love his head on a plate.

‘Harry?’

It was Ron. Some of the tension went out of Harry’s frame. He turned his face on his pillow and saw Ron’s blurry shape by the door. He seemed to be hesitating, but Harry couldn’t know for sure without his glasses.

‘Yeah?’

Ron didn’t talk anymore. He closed the door and came over to the bed.

Harry instinctively scooted backwards. ‘Is that enough?’ he asked, referring to the space he was clearing for Ron.

‘That’s enough’, Ron whispered. He lifted the covers, briefly letting the cold air in, and slid next to Harry.

Harry wanted to ask what had happened, where Hermione was, why Ron was in his room, why Ron had _kissed_ his _cheek_ only a few hours before, but nothing came out of his mouth. Talking was sometimes really hard. Instead, he stretched out his arm, found Ron’s hand and wrapped their fingers together.

Ron didn’t protest.

*

The following morning, Harry woke up early. His room was bathing in light, despite it not being completely day yet. He had forgotten to close the curtains. Snow had packed itself onto the windowsill and from what Harry could see from his lying position, the entirety of the city centre was covered in the fluffy white stuff.

It wasn’t until he thought about getting up and telling Ron that he remembered where Ron was – in his bed, on the pillow next to his, sleeping with his mouth open and his arm stretched out on the mattress.

Harry’s heart flew into overdrive. He was paralyzed with panic, but Ron didn’t wake up. Harry tried to calm himself down and succeeded partly. It was best to ignore the fact that Ron was in his bed. Just. For the moment being. However, Harry couldn’t bring himself to get up and leave the bed. Part of it was the imminent loss of all the accumulated warmth. Part of it was Ron.

Harry stared at a fluffed up pigeon on the windowsill until his eyes slid shut again.

*

The second time he woke up, Ron was the first thing he remembered. It was hard not to, with the way his friend was wrapped around him. Ron was positively spooning Harry, his knees at the back of Harry’s knees, his chest flush with Harry’s back and an undeniable erection pressing into Harry’s buttocks.

As soon as Harry woke up, he knew Ron was awake too. He didn’t know how he knew, he just felt the way Ron was lying against him and knew Ron was utterly and completely conscious. Which begged the question; why didn’t he politely move away?

Before Harry could deduce an answer to that question, Ron’s arm snaked around his waist and his warm palm splayed over Harry’s belly. Harry’s skin jumped at the touch and he tried to toughen up his muscles. Alas, months of drinking Butter beer, eating take out and barely leaving the flat had reduced his midriff to the softest of pudges imaginable. Unlike Ron, who somehow kept his physique broad and strong no matter what he ate –

His thoughts soared again when he felt Ron’s dry lips at the back of his neck, barely noticeable but still rubbing against the skin there.

Harry swallowed, preparing to speak, but he almost choked when Ron’s warm palm slid lower over his torso, over his belly button, towards them of his shirt, which was then lifted up.

The skin-to-skin contact went straight to Harry’s cock, who stood so rigidly at attention Harry briefly wondered if it thought it had a war to fight. Ron’s hand scratched at the hair beneath his belly button, making Harry jittery. He felt a real kiss at the side of his neck and then Ron’s fingertips slipped underneath the waistband of Harry’s pants.

Harry put his hand over Ron’s to stop him from going further. He felt Ron’s sharp intake of breath, but he was too busy talking down his erection before he found the courage to turn around in Ron’s arms and look at him.

‘What are you doing?’ Harry asked, his whispered words barely audible.

Ron looked at him, eyes hooded, but didn’t answer. He stroked the side of Harry’s face, as if the stubble he felt there was as attractive to him as the smooth skin he must have been used to.

Harry covered Ron’s hand with his, holding it still. ‘Hermione’, he whispered, eyes searching Ron’s face frantically.

‘She said I should maybe get a job.’ Ron’s knee bumped against Harry’s thigh.

‘That’s not an unreasonable idea’, Harry said, not moving his leg.

Ron let go of his face and plopped on his back. He covered his eyes with the heel of hand. ‘Harry, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologize – ’

‘Not for this.’ Ron lowered his hands and gestured between them. ‘Never for this.’ He inhaled shakily. ‘I’m sorry for taking advantage of you. I know I said I was going to get myself standing on my own two bloody legs, but I guess I got complacent.’ He grinned wryly. ‘I’ll try this time, I swear.’

So this is it, Harry thought to himself. This is the point where Ron would leave him, get a job, get married and make some redheaded children, away from Harry.

‘Please don’t go.’

As soon as he’d said it, Harry wished he could take it back. It had sounded too vulnerable. Too childish. Ron would hate him if he tried to pressure him into staying with him.

‘Harry – ’

Harry heaved himself on an elbow and leaned over Ron. He didn’t hesitate before pressing his lips to Ron’s. He kept the dry contact up for a few seconds before breaking away and looking at Ron, who hadn’t closed his eyes.

Ron stroked his arm now, from shoulder to wrist. ‘Harry,’ he tried again, ‘me getting a job is not the same as me leaving you. Hermione just said – ’

At the mention of her name Harry tried to get back to his side of the bed, but Ron didn’t let him. He grabbed both Harry’s shoulder and pulled him on top of him. ‘I’m staying with you’, he repeated again, careful, as if he saw something in Harry’s eyes that made him wonder if his friend was going to understand him. ‘Nobody is leaving you, Harry.’

‘What about Hermione?’ Harry said. Her name sounded wrecked on his tongue. He loved her. He loved her so much, yet he was dying of ugly envy every time he thought of her.

‘I’ll fix it’, Ron said, in the same way he’d said he’d try this time, he swore.

Harry felt Ron’s erection against his, separated by two thin layers of underpants. He rolled his hips experimentally. Ron’s eyes almost rolled back in his head. Harry bent his head and kissed Ron again, but different his time. He pried his friends lips open tasted his mouth, shocking himself and Ron in the process. Harry let his tongue glide past Ron’s teeth and then dipped his tongue in his mouth, hearing someone emit a loud groan when their tongues touched each other.

He rearranged his hips so he could thrust against Ron’s thigh. The kiss grew more and more frantic, until Ron reached one hand up in Harry’s hair, holding him steady while fucking his tongue. His other hand slid over Harry’s curved back, dipped into his underpants once more and cupped Harry’s arse cheek, which made Harry so dizzy he came in his pants like a little boy, Ron not far behind him.

Harry’s last thought before blacking out was of Hermione. Great Hermione. Strong Hermione. Hermione, who could have wiped away every Death Eater in the country if she’d set her mind to it, but who chose instead to stay at Harry’s side, loyal to the bone.

Just once, he told himself, lying in Ron’s arms. We won’t do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aubade (n): a poem or piece of music appropriate to the dawn or early morning


	6. Hydrogen Glare

Harry held onto his promise. So did Ron. They never talked about what happened that winter. Ron seemed to try a few times, but Harry didn’t allow him to finish, finding something else to do or say each and every time. After a few weeks he gave up. However, Ron didn’t give up the fleeting touches. When he saw Harry early in the morning, when they were standing close in the kitchen cooking or washing up, when he came home late and checked in on Harry. The touching would be there every time. Sometimes it was just a hand on a shoulder, or an arm that squeezed a waist. One memorable Tuesday Ron had tried to kiss Harry goodbye in the morning before leaving and Harry turned his head fast enough for the kiss to land on his hair. Ron didn’t try to kiss him anymore after that, which made Harry equal parts furious and sad.

Ron did get a job. He had run into Luna Lovegood one day, mentioned that he was looking for something and she hooked him up as a lay-out Wizard at the Quibbler, which Ron assured Harry was not as boring as it sounded. Practically it meant that Ron was not around as much as Harry would have liked. His friend was gone on weekdays from eight to four thirty and sometimes on Saturday mornings. Harry tried to tell himself that it was for the better this way. There was no need to be aching everywhere.

It all seemed to go swimmingly, until the soft winter broke for an early spring mid-February. Both Harry and Ron started shedding layers of jumpers and shirts, until they found themselves one sunny day on the small terrace, lying side by side on the warm tiles, shirts off, trousers off and soaking up the unexpected heat.

‘Bloody hell, mate, I keep forgetting how hairy you are.’ Ron chuckled, as to himself.

Harry lazily opened one eye. ‘Shut up, you fucking Viking.’ Ron’s upper body and legs was dusted with very soft red hairs. In the direct sunlight, it gave his skin a golden sheen, like some kind of ridiculously hot circus performer. ‘Go back to Vikingland or something.’ Harry closed his eyes again. No reason to make life harder than it already was. No pun intended.

‘Vikingland?’

Even without opening his eyes Harry could hear Ron’s smile in his voice.

‘Where would you have to go back to then? Celtic land? With your tiny body and your black hair. You’re like a druid or something.’

Harry opened his eyes, both of them this time, so that his glare had all the force behind it he could muster. ‘I’m not tiny. You’re just too tall to be real.’

‘Nah.’ Ron grinned. ‘You’re tiny. Tiny, tiny Harry.’

Harry plopped down again, planning on ignoring him.

‘You’re so tiny… except for here.’

Harry almost choked when he felt Ron’s warm hand palm him through his boxers. Ron didn’t wait for permission and instead started moving his hand over Harry’s groin, rubbing insistently.

‘Ron!’ Harry’s cock, who was always vigilant, showed a whole lot more interest in the situation than the simple action required.

‘Harry!’ Ron parroted him and shuffled closer. His hand had found Harry’s shaft and was following it shape through the cotton. Before Harry could say more, he grabbed the waistband of his underpants and yanked them down to mid-thigh, leaving Harry exposed in the afternoon sun.

‘Ron’, Harry repeated, but he almost jumped at how broken and needy his own voice sounded. He should have gone out into London, he thought. He should have found a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, just someone to take the edge of so he wouldn’t have been putty in Ron’s hand, moving exactly when and where he was told.

‘Open your eyes.’ Ron’s fingers wrapped around Harry’s cock, squeezing the very life out of him.

‘More’, Harry breathed.

‘Hmm, what?’

‘More, _please_.’ Harry would worry about feeling ashamed later, right now he would do everything for Ron to move his hand, which he did, tantalizingly slowly. Ron went up with his fingers, all the way up, until he reached the tip of Harry’s dick, at which point he pressed his thumb to the head, playing around with Harry’s oozing slit and then he came down again, down, all the way down, reaching Harry’s balls, which he gave he stroked with his ring finger – too soft too _soft_ – before going back up again.

Before he knew what was happening, Harry felt himself panting and sweating. Ron had him in a place he never went before. He was completely out of control, relying on somebody else to know what they were doing, instead of getting up himself to find the right way –

‘Merlin!’ Harry gasped for air when the middle finger of Ron’s other hand trailed between his cheeks and stopped right over his hole, covering it completely with just the pad.

‘No?’ Ron asked, seemingly completely relaxed, but his finger trembled a little.

Harry shook his head. ‘No, yeah, just, slowly, more, please.’

He had no idea how Ron deciphered what he wanted from his jumbled words, but his friend started doing exactly what Harry wanted to feel. He moved his hand faster and tighter over Harry’s shaft and pressed softly with his finger against Harry’s entrance. The moment the tip of his finger breeched the tight ring of muscles and slid in to the first knuckle, Harry came with such force that he swore some of his come went at least a foot in the air.

‘Mate…’

It took Harry some time to get back to himself enough to twist his neck and look at Ron. His friend’s eyes were huge. He had two blotchy red spots high on his cheek and his flush began underneath his collarbones and working its way up.

‘Stay exactly like that’, Ron murmured. ‘Don’t move.’

Harry did as he was told, mainly because he couldn’t move even if his life depended on it.

Ron slid his hand into his own boxer briefs and started rubbing himself. Harry had a brief thought that he would have liked doing that to Ron himself, but he was distracted by the way Ron’s freckled chest started heaving and shimmering.

‘Let me see’, Harry said, unsure if he should say so or not.

Ron paused, looked him over and then slowly took down his underpants. ‘Enough?’ he asked when his pants were all the way down.

‘Enough’, said Harry, but what he meant to say was _perfect_.

It didn’t take Ron long after that. He came on upward stroke, breathing Harry’s name, looking Harry straight in the eyes.


	7. Aurora Obscura

Harry started having recurring dreams about Ron hitting orgasm. His face became so powerful, scrunched up as if in pain, mouth open in a hopeless prayer. Harry wanted to see it again. Sooner preferably than later. All his previous resolve about not hurting Hermione or estranging Ginny any further fell into the water and the thought of losing part of what he considered his family didn’t strike him with fear any longer.

Ron was all that counted now. Ron’s fire truck red hair, which almost came to his shoulders and made him look like a Norse god. Ron’s freckles all over his body, even on his beautiful cock. Ron’s laugh that made his frame shake for breath. Ron Ron Ron.

Harry lasted all of a week before he gave in.

Ron had come home from work and made a beeline for his room, shouting at Harry that he was starving. Harry stood frozen, staring after Ron, who was pulling his shirt over his head. Harry caught a glimpse of a broad, scarred – (when did he get _scars?_ ) – back before Ron disappeared into his room.

Harry blinked once. He blinked twice.

Then he threw down the dish towel he was using to dry some plates and marched to Ron’s room, throwing the door open with a bang.

‘Harry, what – ’

Harry didn’t let him finish. He crowded against Ron, until his red hair hit the wall. He stared at him for a second. He could feel the heat coming off of his naked chest.

Then Harry went to his knees and opened up Ron’s Muggle trousers, ignoring his friend’s surprised gasp.

‘You don’t have to – ’

‘I do.’ Harry looked at the package in front of him. Ron’s erection was straining a little against the soft fabric of his pants. Harry leaned his face forward, until his lips pressed against Ron’s groin. Ron immediately bucked, heaving a tormented sigh, but Harry cut his movements in the bud. He grabbed Ron’s hip bones and pushed them against the wall, before pulling down the hem of his pants, all the way to his knees.

There it was.

The cock.

Ron’s cock.

Ron’s big, red cock.

The Vikingland cock.

Harry giggled softly to himself before enclosing one of his hands around the tip of Ron’s cock and guiding it to his mouth.

The expletives that followed when Ron made contact with Harry’s tongue would have made a monk spontaneously grow back his hair. Harry couldn’t help but giggle again, which – because the Cock was still in his mouth – made Ron almost howl with oversensitivity.

Harry was getting into it. Starting to bob his head in a semblance of a rhythm, when Ron suddenly froze. At first Harry complimented himself on his superior cock sucking skills, but when there was no fluid in his mouth, he shot a quizzical look upwards.

What he saw nearly curdled the content of his stomach.

Ron looked horrified. Absolutely and completely horrified. He was staring at a point by the door, his mouth moving without any sound coming out.

Slowly, Harry let Ron’s cock fall with a soft _plop_ out of his mouth and shuffled around on his knees.

Hermione was standing by the door, face utterly blank. She could have been a ghost, except that her breath was shallow and her right hand curled into a fist, as if she was longing for phantom wand. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out for a while.

All three of them stood in silence.

Then:

‘Harry. Get out.’

Anger coiled up to Harry’s throat like a dormant snake rudely awakened. He wanted to Curse Hermione, to hit her, to claw her eyes out until she was no more. But a memory stopped him. Twelve year-old Hermione Granger, standing in a DADA room, surrounded by a dozen senseless little blue creatures.

Harry had no doubts about his own ability. He knew his was a strong wizard, but Hermione was a strong witch. If he let his rage get the better of him, none of them would make it out of this room. The carnage would be total. Ron –

Ron might get caught in the crossfire.

Harry got to his feet. The walk to the door seemed to take an eternity. For a moment it seemed Hermione wouldn’t let him pass, but then he heard a shuffle behind him, which drew her attention enough for him to slip past her.

The door had barely closed behind him before the hurricane burst forth.

‘I told you to keep an eye on him and you decide to fuck him instead?’ Hermione’s voice was gold and grating, like oxidized iron.

Harry couldn’t hear Ron’s reply, but Hermione made up for it in the volume of her next words.

‘HE IS WEAK AND VULNERABLE, RON. FUCKING MERLIN WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?’

For a moment, Harry froze again, trying to decide whether he should go back in and protest his supposed weakness, but in the end the everlasting tiredness won out and he made his way to his room, closed the door and listened listlessly to the what seemed to be an endless psychological analysis of his absence in society (Hermione) and a detailed description of where that analysis could be stuck (Ron), followed by the loudest and most filthy litany of ball shrinking insults he had ever heard a woman utter.

It was already dark outside by the time he heard Hermione say – with a voice that started to finally shake: ‘And you did not think for a moment that pursuing _this_ would ruin _us_?’

Finally.

Finally she was staking her claim.

Harry closed his eyes.


	8. Nuit Blanche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one. But necessary.

Harry didn’t know if he drifted off or if he simply travelled through time, but when he opened his eyes, the sky was light. He froze mid-stretch when he saw Hermione sitting on the floor of his room, her back against the door.

She looked frightful. Her hair was matted on one side and stood almost vertically on the other. She was still horribly pale and her mouth was pressed together tightly. The worst thing though, were her eyes. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, with purple shades underneath. The way she was staring into the void cut right through Harry’s bones.

‘O, good. You’re up.’ She got up from her spot on the floor, a bit stiff, and walked over to the bed, where Harry instinctively scooted to give her some space. ‘We need to talk.’

Harry opened his mouth to say he was sorry, then he realized he would be lying and pressed his lips together, mirroring Hermione earlier.

‘Harry.’ Her voice broke on his name. She stopped. Took a shaky breath. Tried again. ‘Harry. Did Ron – did he force you, in any way, to –’

‘No!’ Harry didn’t let her finish, horrified at her words. ‘Why would you even – ’

‘Don’t give me that crap, you know exactly why I ask.’ She looked Harry over, making him cover his knees with his arms self-consciously. ‘You’re different’, she said, marginally softer. ‘You were hiding it so well, but after the Battle, after what happened, you became different. You were so absent, all the time. Talking to you was like talking to a Portrait. Harry…’ She trailed off.

Harry stayed silent, even though a vague part of him wanted to argue that it wasn’t him that had become more monotonous and washed out. It was the world around him. The people around him. With the exception – sometimes – of the fiery red of Ron’s raucous smile… and now of Hermione’s sad, chestnut eyes.

‘Then – Harry – _why_?’ Hermione’s hand started shaking and Harry recognized powerless resentment when he saw it. ‘Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you owl me. Or just – you know. Talked to me. Why did you hide it? Why did you have to hide it from me?’

‘Because’, Harry said hoarsely, ‘I don’t know what he would do. I don’t know who he would choose.’

‘You don’t have to worry about that anymore.’ Hermione got up, straining with the effort to keep her shoulders straight. ‘There is no more choice.’

‘What do you mean?’ Harry whispered.

‘I’m no longer an option. He lost me.’ Her eyes started glistening. ‘You lost me.’

A horrible wave of emotion crashed over Harry. Grief threatened to overwhelm him, pushing his collarbones closer together. This could not happen. Hermione was his. He had never had unconditional love until he’d had her and Ron. He could not lose half his family, but at the same time, he knew that expression on her face. He knew that once decided, she did not change her mind. His breath started rebelling.

The worst thing was – so bad disgusting, horrible – that with all that drowning anguish came a dust like speck of relief. Ron could be his. His alone. The equation had been simplified.

‘Maybe’, Hermione said, ‘you should remember that if he did it once, he might do it again.’

‘What?’ Harry was temporarily confused.

‘Cheating’, said Hermione and just like that, it was real.

Everything was real. The world was real. The apartment was real. Harry was real.

And his life had fallen apart.


	9. Sightseeing From The Sun

Ron didn’t go to work the next day. He came in Harry’s room. His step was heavy, his eyes guarded. When he saw Harry sit on the floor next to his bed, he paused.

Harry gave him a small smile.

Ron came to sit right next to him. He cleared his throat and asked: ‘Where do we go from here?’

Harry had one hundred and one things to say, so he said nothing. Instead he took Ron’s hand and pulled him up with him. He pushed him gently back on the bed and straddled his hips.

‘Let’s start right here.’ He bent forward and kissed Ron on the mouth, slow, unhurried and let it become dirty and then filthy. When Ron’s tongue slid over his he ground down, pressing his erection in Ron’s stomach. Harry could feel Ron’s responding erection sitting snugly against his ass. Experimentally, he scooted backwards, until he was sitting on it, separated by four layers of cloth.

Ron moaned. ‘Harry. Maybe – maybe we should talk about this?’

‘No.’ Harry put his hand in Ron’s pants, finding wat he was looking for. ‘Enough talking.’

‘Enough?’

‘Yes. Fucking enough.’

‘Not enough of fucking, I might hope.’

‘Shut up, Ron.’

Ron did more than shut up. He flipped them over, so his bigger body was looming over Harry, blanketing him head to toe. A whispered spell and their clothes had gone completely. Another charm and Harry was left gasping when Ron’s slippery finger breached his hole.

‘Merlin, fuck’, he breathed when Ron added a second finger and started wriggling like there was no tomorrow. ‘What the ever living centaurfuck are digging for.’

‘It’s somewhere here, I think’, Ron mumbled. When he crooked his fingers, he hit something inside Harry dad made him buck clean off the bed. ‘Found it’, he grinned triumphantly.

‘I can’t, Ron, sweet baby Arthur, I can’t, please.’

‘Yes, you can. Harry, yes, you can.’ Ron pushed Harry back into the sheets and kept up his steady massage of the infernal bundle of nerves up Harry’s arse.

‘Ron.’ Harry only noticed that he was crying when he turned his head and found the pillow to be wet.

‘Sshh, it’s gonna be okay.’ Ron let go off Harry’s hip and swiped his thumb over his cheek, all the while still fingering the life out of his best friend. ‘You’re doing awesome.’

While Harry felt a force stronger than his brain take over his body, he vaguely thought that Ron seemed to know what he was doing, which begged the question how he knew what he was doing. For a second Hermione’s last words echoed in his skull, but he shook his head violently and focused on Ron’s steady encouragements.

Suddenly, all the pleasure fell away, leaving Harry empty and frustrated.

Ron grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under Harry’s hips, laying both Harry’s ankles over his shoulders and scooting forward, until Harry’s knees hung over them and his heels scraped against Ron’s shoulder blades.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Ron lined himself up. When he pushed inside, Harry almost panicked completely. It was never gonna fit. Merlin, why did he even like this, it was never going to fit. Ron pushed ahead though. Harry closed his eyes and breathed through his nose.

One eternity later, he felt Ron’s balls against his ass, a counterweight for the sinful delight that throbbed inside of Harry. How could a damn cock be this magical?

‘Okay?’ Ron asked, voice and face wrecked.

‘Yeah’, Harry replied. ‘Move.’

It took some cursing and adjusting, but Ron managed to find that wonderful spot inside Harry again and lined his thrusts up to slide against it with every movement.

Harry didn’t last. He couldn’t. His last semi-coherent thought before tipping over the edge was that even if Hermione was right and he would never have Ron completely to himself, he would take what he would get, any day, any time.

Ron fucked him through the ensuing stupor and followed him a few minutes later, panting and cursing, with a blush that began on his chest and blended with his hair.

When he collapsed, he whispered something Harry couldn’t catch. He waited, then pointed out: ‘You’re crushing me.’

Ron grunted, but rolled over. His breathing was still loud. ‘Harry?’ he asked.

‘Yeah?’

‘Was that enough?’

Harry smiled at the ceiling. ‘That was perfect.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

A pigeon cooed on the window sill.

‘Ron?’

‘Hmm?’

‘How do you feel about Namibia?’

‘What?’ Ron sounded surprised.

‘I was this documentary about it. I wanna go see it for myself. I wanna see the fish river canyon.’

Ron pushed himself on an elbow to get a better look at his best friend’s face.

‘Come with me.’ Harry looked him right in the eyes. He knew what Ron would say. He had a job now. They were adults. They couldn’t just up and leave.

Ron dropped back on the pillow with a deep groan. ‘I’m gonna get so many freckles.’

 

fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the fic ends. Many thanks for all the comments/kudos/subscriptions!


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